I smile and take her hand, helping her down from the stool. ‘Because you are. Because our story is truly incredible. Come on.’ I find the manager and have a quiet word while Ava stands in the entrance hall, staring up the sweeping staircase to the balcony landing. Just watching her there, taking everything in, looking so out of place, brings back so many memories. It’s sweetly reminiscent, if a little painful. The sight is beautiful, but the feelings are ugly. I don’t have the all-consuming intrigue and awe swirling within me like I did back then. I have anxiety instead.
I join Ava and stare up to the first floor, too. The doors off the landing are all closed – doors to guests’ hotel rooms, as opposed to doors that lead to hours of pleasure.
‘This way,’ I whisper in her ear, making her jump a little. I hold my hand out and smile when she takes it, walking us leisurely though what was The Manor. When we hit the ballroom, which is now a huge restaurant with a terrace onto the golf course, I look back, trying not to hope too much that any of this is familiar to her. It’s a long shot, since it’s so very different from how I remember it. ‘Our wedding breakfast was in this room,’ I say over my shoulder, leading her through the scattering of tables.
‘Please tell me you sold this place before we got married.’
‘I can’t.’ I return my attention forward, smiling when she sighs. My smile stretches when I spot an elaborate spray of flowers in a huge glass vase with bursts of every colour imaginable. I divert us to the table where it stands and scan the bouquet, spotting what I’m looking for. There’s only one. But it doesn’t matter. I only need one. I pluck the calla from the middle and turn, handing it to Ava.
She’s unsure as she reaches for it, eyes flicking from me to the flower. ‘It’s beautiful.’
I smile mildly and pull her on. ‘Understated elegance,’ I say over my shoulder, relishing the beam she gives me in return. ‘They’re your favourite flowers.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since the day you met me,’ I tell her as we approach my office door, thinking I was quite romantic back then after all. I look up at the solid wooden door, my mind bombarded with so many memories, the most poignant and important being the first time that Ava O’Shea wandered in. I remember it like it could have been yesterday. I was hung-over. Grumpy. Wishing I didn’t have to endure the mundane meeting with an interior designer. Then John showed her in, and all headaches and irritability were forgotten. Instant intrigue, desire, and want replaced them. ‘Wait here,’ I order lightly, dropping her hand and opening the door, stepping into the vortex of memories.
Her head cranes around me, trying to see into the office. ‘Wait?’
‘I want you to wait one minute and then knock on the door.’
She laughs a little. ‘Why?’
‘Because that’s how it was when we met.’ I shut the door and spin around, taking in my office. ‘Really?’ I ask thin air. What the fuck have they done to it? I rush across to the corner and drag the desk to where it should be. I haven’t got time to rearrange the entire space to replicate what it was all those years ago, so this will have to do. I hear a knock and fall into the chair, quickly rolling up the sleeves of my shirt and roughing up my hair a little. ‘Come in,’ I call, grabbing a pen and jotting something down on a pad to the side. The sound of the door opening fills the office, and I look up to find she’s poked her head around the door.
‘I don’t even know why I’m here,’ she says on a shrug, making me sag in the uncomfortable office chair.
‘Just come in.’ I flap an impatient hand, beckoning her.
She shuts the door and stands across the office, looking around, a bit bewildered. ‘Nice.’
‘It was better when it was my office,’ I say, following her lead and taking the space in. I sniff my disgust and find my wife again. She’s the only thing that looks right in here, even if she’s staring at me a little blankly, her face asking me what next? Her dark hair, currently piled high in a messy knot, isn’t as glossy, and her eyes aren’t as shiny. But she still takes my breath away.
I get up from the chair and slowly round the desk, dragging my fingers across the wood. Then I rest my arse on the edge, crossing my legs at the ankles and my arms over my chest. Her eyes fall to my torso, and I smile to myself. ‘What do you see?’ I ask, prompting her to look up through her lashes at me.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Here.’ I indicate down my tall frame, eyebrows raised in question. ‘What do you see?’
‘I see you.’
‘Play the game, Ava,’ I warn – low and husky, instantly making her shift on her feet. That’s more like it. She’s fidgeting. Good. Let’s get this fucking show on the road.
She breathes in, long and deep. She’s finding the courage to say what she wants to say, and I silently will her on. ‘I see dirty-blond hair,’ she begins, clearing her throat in order to continue, as if the silly act will wipe her voice of the lust that’s growing. ‘Green eyes.’
‘And?’
‘And a body to die for.’ She smiles shyly on a little shrug of one shoulder, colour creeping into her cheeks again. ‘Which I’m guessing you must work hard for, given your age.’
I just manage to keep my eyebrows from jumping up in surprise. ‘I don’t work that hard,’ I clarify, thinking now would usually be a perfect time to start the countdown and warn her to take that back. But not now. ‘And you don’t know how old I am,’ I point out.
‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-three.’
She laughs lightly, looking away. She’s struggling to keep our eye contact, and I just know it’s because she’s finding it too intense to deal with. This is good.
‘You think I’m handsome.’ I pose it as a statement, because I know it to be true. She might have lost her memory, but she can’t have lost her taste in men. I’m her taste. Me. Only me.
‘Devastatingly,’ she confesses, with no hesitance or shame, finding the strength she needs to lock eyes with me.
‘Then we’re off to a good start.’ I half smile, and so does she, more shifting of her feet happening.
‘You’re also cocky.’
‘You love my cockiness.’ I avoid telling her that she also loves my cock. It’s too soon. Or is it? Then her eyes drop to my groin, as if she’s read my mind, and my cock – the one she loves – shouts from behind my fly. I talk it down urgently. It’s definitely too soon for that. I don’t think her mind would cope, and especially not her healing body.
As I take measured steps towards her, her breathing gets more laboured until she eventually gives up altogether and holds her breath. I reach her and dip, kissing her cheek lightly. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ I whisper, smiling when she shudders from top to toe before snapping out of her trance and moving back. ‘You had the very same reaction the first time we met.’
She puffs out a shot of disbelieving laughter, looking away, as if embarrassed by her reactions to me. ‘You . . . um . . . yes . . .’ She shakes herself, and then winces, reaching up to her head and clutching the side. ‘You certainly have a presence,’ she finishes on a face screwed up in discomfort.
My guilt is instant. ‘This was too much too soon.’ I move in and pick her up, and she lets me, welcoming my offer of support.
‘I have legs, you know,’ she says, settling her head on my shoulder.
‘Yeah, yeah, you tell me most days.’ In one swift but careful move, I manoeuvre her body, guiding her legs to around my waist. ‘And this is more like it.’ Our faces are suddenly close again, her unsure eyes on mine. ‘You call it our baby chimp cuddle,’ I say quietly.
She smiles faintly, scanning my face, as if she can’t get enough of it. ‘I’m guessing you didn’t actually sweep me off my feet the first time we met, so what happened after you had me coming over all hot and bothered?’
‘You ran.’
‘I ran?’
‘Yes, you virtually threw yourself down the stairs to escape me. Well, after I’d shown you the extension and told you I liked your dress.’
‘The extension? You’ve lost me.’
‘I hired you to design the new rooms I had built here.’